The Secret Ultimate Technique
by Playgirl Eugene
Summary: Hiruma proved himself capable of resorting to some very bizarre, dirty technique.


**THE SECRET ULTIMATE TECHNIQUE**

**Author: **playgirl_eugene

**Pairing:** Harem/Sena

**Genre: **comedy, crack, hilarious situations

**Warning(s):** slash/yaoi/male x male (if you wanna see it that way~), Hiruma and Agon (uh, bad words?), total crack, somewhat violence (it is Eyeshield 21, after all)

**Rating: **T-PG/15

**Disclaimer:** Eyeshield 21 and all of the characters, including the original plot and situations, are created and owned by Inagaki Riichiro-sensei. This fic is purely fictional and I do not earn profit of any kind and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Summary:** Hiruma proved himself capable of resorting to some very bizarre, dirty techniques.

**Author's Note:** Post America-Japan game. I know that I should be updating my other fics. But these one-shots plot bunnies on ES21 and KHR kept on bugging me even to my sleep.

* * *

**- x - x - x -**

_28-23._

It was gruelling, the decisive life-and-dead match point for both teams: so far with the Russian leading.

Since the arrogant so-called miracle brats from Japan were miraculously able to catch up 14 points within the last ten minutes of the first half with super impossible techniques, proud Russian coach, Kuznetsov, former man of dramatic prose—he failed to get a place in sixteen theatre he auditioned because he looked like a broad back honey bear with nil romanticism despite his sensitive, emotional heart—resorted to the secret, ultimate American football technique of all time.

"The other team's hitting on your girlfriends!" Kuznetsov shouted, earning a war cry from his boys.

"Huuuuuuuuooooooooooo! Kill them!"

…

"… But, coach, none of us has a girlfriend…"

"… Oh."

Language barrier ignored, Agon suddenly burst out laughing.

"What a bunch of pathetic trash," he said, flipping dreadlock over his shoulder with a smug smirk on his lips. "Obviously they never had any."

If petty glares could physically injure, Agon would've died, revived, and died again by the looks shot by his straight, girlfriend-deprived teammates (though Agon would kill them before they got ten miles to that point).

"Guys with girls should die!" They hissed with, all hate and envy, giving Agon the evil eyes. Agon just flipped the obscene finger at them and laughed harder.

"Now, now…" Yamato raised placating hands, sounding like how a mother would say 'children, please' and smiling cover-boyishly.

Some people were just _itching_ to punch the cover-boy smile off his cover-boy face.

From his front-line position, which suited the tyrant, as he could see everything from the first-class seat, Hiruma popped his sugar-free bubblegum with a thoughtful look on his face.

He glanced sideway at a certain, tiny running back, face pink over the cheeks and huge, doe eyes wide and glassy, mildly tanned skin glowing from sweat, standing beside and speaking amicably to the white haired punk from Seibu and suddenly, with the speed of a bullet train—or Shin's Trident—inspiration struck.

A sharp-toothed grin—and some sensitive, delicate mortal souls shuddered from ominous presentiment at the sight—found its way to Hiruma's thin lips. With the devil-conspiratorial cackle, he turned and fired his gun.

"Hora, bastards!" he shouted in Japanese, as he swung his clawed fist. "The other team's hitting on… _Kobayakawa Sena."_

Thunder suddenly struck in the middle of the field and everyone froze. Monta gasped, "Meep!"

"Eh?"

At the sound of his name, Sena instinctively turned around only to flinch when he saw the pure-evil on Hiruma's shark-like smile. _Hungry shark-like smile,_ he added.

Like a switch flipped and volcano erupting, sudden, psychotically murderous look stole on the faces of the unrepentant, immoral Elites—made unofficial but obvious—including Agon and some familiar faces from the front row of the audience stand (and the three echoing "Huh?!" from somewhere in the front).

Shin cracked his knuckles loud enough to pale decent men, Sakuraba's Bambi eyes narrowed uncharacteristically, Yamato's cover-boy grin titled into a gentlemanly psychopathic smile, Akaba's fingers played a potent strangling noise, and Kakei's blue glare could've frozen the Siberian Sea.

"I'll fucking _kill_ them punks," Agon growled with a homicidal cackle.

"That's not smart!" commented a scowling Koutarou as he flipped his comb against his hair. Musashi nodded solemnly beside him.

"Yare, yare…" Kid muttered as he lowered the tip of his hat.

He was always a calm, patient man, with a good head on his neck and not enough motivation to be rational with this wayward team and their unseemly protectiveness over the petite brunet, which had them playing right into another one of Hiruma's dirty games without the usually much needed persuasion.

Of course, unless one was blind, deaf, and retarded, one would notice that not a single perverted, immoral soul could've gotten into the ten miles radius with an unholy intention for the brunet without having Hiruma's business end of heavy calibre machine gun pointing at their respective heads, safety removed and all.

Yes, he was directly implying that his team members were blind, deaf, and retarded.

But if anything, Kid knew how to keep his mouth shut like he knew how to choose his enemy. _You simply don't make an enemy out of Hiruma Youichi._ He was something more than the fatality insurance could cover, even if he was classified as a hazardous value.

Gaou was too busy shaking the ground with his laughter (and then, Ootawara laughed along and boom-farted). Takami was sighing from his side.

On the other side of the field, Riku pulled a confused Sena behind him.

"Stay back, Sena," he said, "and close your eyes."

"W-What? What's going on, Riku?" Sena said, growing increasingly worried at the bulging veins decorating Riku's forehead.

"Because, this will get rough." replied a blank-faced Riku, "And I promised Mamori-neesan I won't let you see anything rated violence."

"Huh?" Sena blinked again.

"Kill 'em, Ya-Ha!"

"Ya-Ha!"

* * *

**- x - x - x -**

And that one, high-summer evening, the Russian team was, for the lack of a better memorial tomb, brutally stripped of their dignity—as players and men and bears—by an overwhelming 118-28 during the second half of the game.

Rumours—_cough_Hiruma_cough_—had it that they spent the next three months in the hospital trying to recover the proverbial physical bruises, pride or otherwise. The doctors had shook their heads and sent the team to spend another year in the psychiatric ward with acute post-traumatic syndrome.

Coach Kuznetsov went back to move lightings at theatre backstage and found peace.

Even now, that evil cackles still rung in their ears and haunted their nightmares. And then, they cried. Like little girls.

Hence, Japan became the most feared team in the world youth league and the lethal formation, the infamous 'Kobayakawa Sena's virtue, touch and die,' somewhat embarrassing name, somewhat self-humiliating reasons, became a somewhat legendary ultimate, secret technique.

* * *

**- x - x - x -**

**Omake**

Sena fidgeted, awkward and restless, as Monta and Taka, both prosaic roles ceased because the rest of the team had resorted to caveman barbarism that did not need their aerial grace, each pressed their hand over his eyes.

He couldn't see what was going on, but that scream just now, Hiruma's apocalyptic cackle just now, Agon's laugh just now sounded so… _heart-wrenching._

Did Hiruma finally kill someone? Did Agon and Hiruma finally kill someone?

As in _together?_

Sena shuddered.

"A-ano… Monta, Ta-Taka-san…"

"What, Sena?" answered Monta from his right.

Someone sobbed. Someone else squealed. Sena gasped. In fear. Oh.

"W-what's going on, really? I-I mean, why are you closing my eyes?" Sena flinched violently when he heard something cracked. That was the sound of _bones_, wasn't it? And was someone crying?

He squeaked, "T-That, uh… splat just now, umm, wh-why does it smell like… b-blood?" Sena wetted his lips nervously and jumped when he heard an earth-shaking boom. Was that even allowed on field? Why wasn't the ref calling the penalty? "Umm, w-was that the grenade l-launcher?"

Taka looked down, face blank and emotionless, on the small running back. "… Do you really want to know?"

Sena thought about it for a moment.

"I-I think… maybe not…"

Taka nodded. "Good. Now settle down,"

After the almost tragic, heart-breaking Russia-Japan game, every time Hiruma, like the bastard of a despot he was, made them carry out the 'Kobayakawa Sena's virtue, touch and die' formation, Monta and Taka move in to protect Sena's innocent eyes and Sena would endure what sounded like one-sided, cold-blooded slaughter, shuddering and flinching and squeaking appropriately.

And that was how team Japan managed to protect Kobayakawa Sena's innocence.

Though someone—supposedly Suzuna, a giggling mini-sized Hiruma in the making—out of pity or just passing vaguely sadistic whim, suggested that they buy earplugs.

* * *

**- x - x - x -**

**End Note:** Crack, pointless. Head-desk. Repenting. I don't know why I even wrote this. Uh, please review?


End file.
